A Mystery of Errors (Shakespeare & Smythe 1)

Smythe merely nodded.

“Aye, I can see that. Astonishing. And you think he knows?” “Why else would he have loaned his sword to a complete stranger?”

Shakespeare shrugged. “With his money, it would seem an act of little consequence. The very rich are not like us, my friend. They are liable to do things on a whim that to us would seem incomprehensible.”

“Such as becoming involved in a tavern brawl, say, or highway robbery?”

“Perhaps. Who is to say? There are more things in heaven and earth, Tuck, than are dreamt of in our philosophy. Things beyond the ken of the greatest thinkers of our time. What man truly knows himself and can plumb the depths of his own soul, much less those of other men?” ›

“He intends for me to return this sword to him,” said Smythe.

“Or else embarrass yourself in attempting to make one better.”

“Oh, that will not be very difficult. It will take some time, a bit of sweat, and honest effort, but my uncle taught me well. I do not pretend to be a master swordsmith, but then, neither is Cleve Somersby. The quality of his blades varies greatly, and while this one is entirely adequate, it is still not among the best examples of his craft. I could have bettered this in my third year of apprenticeship.”

“Oh, so Sir William really was cheated, then,” said Shakespeare.

“If he paid the going price for a Toledo blade, then he was not merely cheated; he was fleeced.”

“If that is so, then I do not envy the man who fleeced him. He will wind up in prison before the week is out. Or worse still.”

“Or else there is no such man at all,” said Smythe. He ladled some meat out of the common bowl and put it on his trencher, then tore off a piece of bread and popped a piece of stewed mutton in his mouth.

Shakespeare gulped his ale and set the tankard down, frowning. “What?” His eyes grew wide. “Oh, I see! You are suggesting that Sir William knew all along the truth about the blade, and he merely said that it was from Toledo just to see if you would know the difference?”

“I suspect so,” Smythe replied, washing down the bread and meat with some ale. He felt ravenous and grateful for the free meal.

“Well, I can see the sense in that, I suppose,” said Shakespeare, filling his own trencher. “But then, why would a man of his position wear a merely ordinary blade? I should think that he would wish to purchase nothing but the best.”

“Indeed. One would certainly think so.”

“So then… why not the best? Why not a genuine Toledo?”

“Well, in all the commotion just now,” Smythe said, “you most likely did not notice Marlowe’s weapon, did you?”

“Marlowe’s weapon? Tuck, my friend, I was much too busy staying out of the way of those blades to pay much mind to their quality of manufacture.”

“Well, in all likelihood, most people would probably have failed to notice, too,” said Smythe, “unless, that is, they were apprenticed for seven years to a master smith and farrier, who taught them everything he knew about the art of weaponscraft. Marlowe’s rapier, as it happens, was an exquisite example of the finest Spanish craftsmanship. Its cup hilt was worked with gold and its scabbard was bejeweled in a manner I would not think a poet could normally afford.”

“You think they had exchanged blades?” Shakespeare said.

“But why? It could not have been to test your knowledge, for Marlowe must have already had that blade in his possession before we had arrived.”

“True. Perhaps Sir William gave it to him, either as a gift or perhaps as payment for some service rendered.”

“An extravagant gift, indeed. Especially since Sir William seems not to like Marlowe very much. Or at the very least, he disapproves of him.”

“He did make that rather strange remark,” said Smythe. “About making allowances for talent or some such thing, because otherwise the man would be insufferable. I am not sure what he meant.”

Shakespeare smiled. “He was alluding to Marlowe’s tastes.” “His tastes?”

“When Sir William said that Marlowe seemed to like you, he meant he… liked you.”

“What do you mean he… oh! Oh, God’s wounds!”

Shakespeare chuckled. “That is why Sir William was so amused by your response. Amiable, indeed. But never fear, Tuck. I shall protect you from predatory poets. If you, in turn, protect me from murderous drunkards with rapiers.”

“Done,” said Smythe. “Now let’s see about finding a place to sleep tonight, and then we shall seek out the Queen’s Men.”